


Don't Be Afraid (Of The Dark)

by milkyway



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Depressed Stiles, Depression, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Derek is Stiles' Anchor, Domestic Derek and Stiles, Established Relationship, Feels, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mates, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 19:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2633504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkyway/pseuds/milkyway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're mates, they're happy. But sometimes the darkness comes visiting Stiles, and only Derek can help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Be Afraid (Of The Dark)

Don't Be Afraid Of The Dark

The rain has been beating down softly all evening, a cool, unseasonable visitor from the North, quenching the high summer. Derek is curled up on the couch, watching old episodes of Futurama on Netflix in a fit of nostalgia. Rainy nights always make him think of his childhood in this very house, before the fire, when his mother would make pancakes and the whole family would watch bad sci-fi series on Cora’s behalf.

Of course, it’s a different house now, in its third, and possibly happiest, iteration: completely redone and rebuilt, the warm happy home that’s been witness to the astonishing love story of a grumpy werewolf and the nerdy young man he fell in love with.

Stiles went upstairs an hour earlier, giving him a goodnight kiss before settling down with a book. Stiles and Derek are like twin planets orbiting around a common barycentre, sometimes at apogee when they need their space, other times in perfect syzygy. Tonight's been a gentle night, each absorbed in a quiet zone. For all Stiles’s jabbering and Derek’s huffing and growling, these soft silent spaces knit them close too. They can walk in the forest hand in hand without saying anything for hours, or, tonight, indulge in respective TV gorging or reading before cuddling up for the night.

Stiles has not been his usual chatty self the past few days, even excusing himself from the pack meeting on Monday, but then Derek senses his mate is exhausted: after all, the final med school exams are just over, and in a week they’ll know the results. Stiles is finally going to be Vojtech Stilinski MD, their wedding will be in six months and… well, a whole new chapter of their lives is unfolding in a giddy vista in front of them.

Derek rubs his eyes, yawns, and switches off the TV. It’s dark, but Derek’s eyes are as good at night as they are during the day. In the gloom, he washes the dishes —he always finds it soothing, much to Stiles’s mirth— and fixes himself a decaf espresso before walking up the stairs to the main bedroom. 

“Stiles?”

He’s not in the bed, though the copy of Camus’s “L’Etranger” lies half-opened on the nightstand. 

Derek sniffs, frowning. French existentialism is not exactly Tigger energy for an already Eeyore Stiles. He picks up his mate’s scent easily and opens the door leading to the balcony overlooking the back garden.

He finds the brunet sitting on his haunches in the corner, rocking slightly from side to side. He’s soaked and shivering.

Derek walks up towards him and leans down, placing a gentle hand on his mates shoulder. He winces when he sees the bleak look of anguish on the man he loves.

“Buddy?” he says softly, squeezing Stiles’s shoulder.

Stiles doesn’t react immediately.

“Hey,” he says in a reedy voice.

“You’re soaked.”

“Oh?”

“You’re going to catch a cold. How long have you been out there? I thought you went to bed.”

 

“I, um, wanted some fresh air.”

 

Derek is mildly irritated. He can smell Stiles's immune system is down from all the stress. And, in this cold and wet, a mere drop in temperature by 1 degree could set off a deluge of laryngitis or bronchitis or even frank asthma. It was ironic that Scott was the asthmatic before Peter bit him, and Stiles was perfectly physically able, if gawky and on Adderall. He’s been asthmatic for over two years now, ever since the sacrifice he had to make to save Derek’s life. It took a physical toll on him, and continues to, being the pack Red. His magic is awesome and fearsome but also drains him. It keeps the pack in balance, but the Alpha Mate needs handling with kid gloves sometimes, and this bothers Stiles. He never wanted special treatment. So the pack does its best with subtlety, affirming his (very elite) pack status and keeping him involved. They just don’t tell them they pull their punches with him and ensure he never gets hurt. 

Derek grabs Stiles’s arm, and tries not to show his surprise at how cold the younger man’s skin is. He’s positively chilled. 

“Come, my love,” he says gently, helping him up. Then he notices the tears in Stiles’s eyes, which are red and puffy.

“What’s wrong, Stiles?” Derek asks, drawing the brunet closer to him. 

“Nothing, really,” the brunet lies, wiping his eyes. “Nothing important.”

“I can tell you're lying, babe. Every feeling in a pack is important. As the Alpha’s mate you should know that.”

Stiles sits down on the bed and Derek scoots up next to him.

“I know that Der, but… it’s just…”

“Tell me, my sweet love.”

Derek’s face is so hopeful, so sincere, so full of promise that he’ll hold him, console him, comfort him.

“Bad day. It’s my mama’s birthday. And next week I graduate.”

“Oh, Stiles. I should have known.”

Derek holds him close, stroking his hair, letting him topple forward onto him. Stiles breathes deeply into the werewolf’s strong chest. He sobs quietly, almost gracefully. Derek leans into the side of his head and croons soft wolf noises, whines, huffs, sniffs: wolf talk that says, “I’m here; I love you.”

“Nothing wrong with missing your mama,” Derek says, drying his tears. “You just sit here with me and I’ll stay with you until you’re feeling better. Do you need anything? A cup of hot chocolate?”

Stiles manages a weak smile and a nod.

“Go draw yourself a bath and I’ll bring you a mug. And some for myself. And I’ll sit with you and then we’re I’m holding you all night, okay, buddy. That’s an order from your Alpha.”

Stiles is still crying softly. 

"Why did she have to die, Derek? And your family... too... it's so fucking unfair..."

"We can't know all the answers, babe," Derek says simply. "You told me that. You believe in God, something I struggle with. But there is something greater that can make sense of all of this..."

"Yeah, but I'm angry at Him. When I know that's wrong."

"A child can be angry at its parent. That's not disrespectful; that's human, Stiles."

Stiles takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes. Derek still has a tight grip on him, and isn't backing down.

"But she died because of me," says Stiles. "The curse... the sacrifice..."

"Stiles. Any parent would do that for their child. And you gave your life... twice. For your father. For me."

Stiles wrestles himself away from Derek and folds his arms. He thinks back, first to the time of the Darach where he and Scott and Allison sacrificed themselves to save their parents, when the darkness came for the first time. Then the evil spirit that nearly rent the pack asunder, the same spirit his mother made a deal with, it took her, instead of her precious boy. But it was still hungry, and it came back. Ultimately, love won out. There was no match for the love between a werewolf and his mate.

But still, the void came to Stiles, sometimes.

"The darkness still comes, sometimes," says Stiles softly.

Derek nods. "I know. But it will never win.”

“I don’t want to have to take fucking meds for the rest of your life.”

“Stiles, depression just is what it is. Would you tell a diabetic not to take their insulin?”

“No, but…”

“I know I’m a werewolf who doesn’t ever have to bother with medication, but really, Stiles? So you have a mental health issue. One that you deal with very responsibly. My god, if you didn’t develop depression after all the shit you’ve been dealt with I’d be very concerned, actually.”

"Derek, there's a fucking hole in my soul sometimes."

"We all have darknesses," says Derek, drawing his knees to his chest. He's magnificent in the half-light, chiseled, brooding. "But darkness isn't necessarily evil. It's just a shadow."

"Don't go all Jung on me," says Stiles, snorting in spite of himself.

"Hey, I wouldn't be worth my salt as a therapist if I couldn't sic some psychobabble on you, babe."

"Whatever," says his mate, running a hand through his damp hair. "And you.You don't have any darkness, despite your stupid broody good looks. You're a puppy."

“Oh really? I’m a wolf," says Derek, smiling. "I'm a creature of the night. A predator."

"But no murderer. Except maybe the odd bunny rabbit and chicken."

Derek chuckles, and ruffles Stiles's hair. "Guilty as charged."

Stiles's face goes serious again. "What's it like, Derek? Taking life?"

Derek feels a chill arcing down his back. "What do you mean?"

"When you hunt."

Derek blows out his cheeks. "I can't really describe it. I just know I have to hunt sometimes... it's like you're drawn to it, you see the prey, and then you lock on, and then it's like you're connected to the earth, and this energy takes hold... it's scary and thrilling and dizzying at the same time. It’s like nature takes over. But I’m not cruel, Stiles, I only hunt that which nature deems is correct."

"I know that, sillywolf. It's just, life's so fucking complicated."

"And also sacred," says Derek, kissing Stiles on the forehead. "Go get your ass in the shower before you get pneumonia."

"Yeah, yeah," says Stiles, and trundles off to the bathroom.

He stands for a long time under the hot stream, still shivering for a good few minutes until the heat wins out. He's feeling lighter, calmer, but the sadness still sears his heart. He wonders how Derek can be so stoic in the face of all the sadness he's had to endure, but maybe it's how he survived. Derek is a softie, he knows... he cried his heart out during "Up"... and when he's down sometimes, he'll show his feelings to Stiles, but the Alpha's reserve in the face of life's ups and downs leaves him with awe.

He thinks of his mom again, of Derek’s family, of the fire, of all the loss and hurt that’s visited Beacon Hills in the past. A wave of emptiness come over him, when Derek steps into the shower and hugs him.

"I'm not letting you go," the werewolf murmurs. "Not now, not ever."

Stiles breaks down again, now sobbing loudly, the steady stream of tears vying to drown out the pelting rain of the shower. Derek caresses his back, kisses his neck, not judging, just being.

"I love you," says Stiles, feeling the words echo inside him. The darkness stirs, whirls behind his skull, but it can't find purchase, as if the steady breathing of the Alpha is draining it.

"I love you too," says Derek. He's grabbed the soap and is working a creamy lather over his mate's chest. He washes his hair, massages his shoulders, doesn't let him go.

Frustrated, the darkness gives up, unable to take hold. There is a warmth coursing through Stiles, radiating out of his heart; Derek feels it traveling towards him. 

"It's just a shadow," he says, turning off the tap and leading Stiles by the hand. "Shadow's just the absence of light."

"How do you get so profound?" says Stiles, sniffing as they towel each other off.

"Ever since a brown-eyed boy stole my heart and showed the Big Bad Wolf that he can be loved too," Derek replies wryly.

"The Big Bad Wolf was always loved," says Stiles. "Little Red just... didn't know how to show him at first.The Brothers Grimm got the story wrong."

"I'm glad you know the real story," says Derek with a decidedly wolfy grin.

They shuffle to the bedroom; Stiles pulls on a pair of boxers and an old tee while Derek puts on his trademark sweats.

"My mom always told me she felt sorry for the wolf. He didn't deserve what the woodcutter did to him. He was... falsely accused, she said."

"A wise woman."

They get into bed and spoon. Derek turns out the light. It's stopped raining, and the moon is peeking through the clouds, washing the two men in a tableaux of milky criss-cross patterns throught the louvres.

Stiles sighs, reaching back to tickle Derek's back. The werewolf groans in contentment and buries his face in the brunet's dark brown locks.

"See, the dark can be beautiful too," says Derek. 

"Mmm," Stiles murmurs, heavy with sleep.

"I'll carry you through the dark," says the werewolf softly as Stiles begins to snore softly. In the play of light and shadow, Stiles looks like an angel, Derek's own angel.

Derek closes his eyes and wraps himself around his mate, dreaming of the night, where even in the inkiest blackness, there are always stars to lead the way.


End file.
